Jorōgumo
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: Black Widow was more than just Natasha's code name. Unfortunately, Burkhardt had already seen that; she wasn't going to get away with playing mostly harmless demoiselle.


**Title**: Jorōgumo

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: K+

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary**: _Black Widow was more than just Natasha's code name. Unfortunately, Burkhardt had already seen that; she wasn't going to get away with playing mostly harmless demoiselle._ 1300 words.

**Spoilers**: Indeterminate season of POI; post-movie for Sorcerer's Apprentice

**Notes**: Originally posted elsewhere April 22, 2014. For pprfaith, for Day 9 in Wishlist 2013, for the prompt "Black Widow isn't just a codename. Natasha is a Wesen." Title is from the Japanese myth about the spider woman used as the basis for the Tarantella episode of Grimm, from which this story draws heavily. And "Kehrseite" is Grimm-verse for "human".

* * *

"Okay. Now I know what you are- and you know what I am," Detective Nick Burkhardt growled, slamming the door of the PPD interrogation room behind them. "So who are you, really? And why are you here?"

Natasha Romanov had known long before she set foot in Portland that the wesen power structure in the area had shifted over the last few years. It would have been difficult not to, given just how many wesen were employed by SHIELD; between the unexpected visits by various European Royals, the resulting intensification of the guerilla war between the Royal-supporting Verrat and the rebel Laufer, the increase in attention from the Wesen Council, and rumors of either a kindlier or deadlier new Grimm all centering on the same city, SHIELD's eye had been drawn to Oregon's most populated metro area long before one of the Black Widow's missions had taken her there.

What she _hadn't_ expected- what hadn't been recorded in SHIELD's files, and _should_ have been- was that the Grimm in question had a badge of his own. Natasha was going to have _words_ with her handler about that in her debrief. Portland's rogue Royal had clearly learned cutthroat politics at his mother's knee, if not his father's; when SHIELD had spoken with him years before to discern the scope of the new fiefdom he planned to establish and whether interference would be warranted, he'd obviously written loopholes into the treaty big enough to smuggle a ring of Löwen through, never mind one improbably doe-eyed, handsome Grimm.

"I told you," Natasha said calmly, nodding to the SHIELD badge the dark-haired young man had thrown on the table between them. "I'm an agent of SHIELD. I'm here to speak with Captain Renard about a matter of national security."

Burkhardt already _seen_ her; she wasn't going to get away with playing mostly harmless demoiselle. No amount of wide-eyed protest or cleavage on display was going to stop him from pulling his sidearm if she made an unexpected move. She could still get out without a problem if she had to, possibly over his dead body if he insisted; but she didn't know enough about his capabilities to be sure, and Fury would not be pleased if she burned down SHIELD's welcome in the city in the process.

The lines between Burkhardt's brows grew deeper as he assessed that answer. He braced his hands against the back of the chair across the table from her, and flexed his fingers as if distracting himself from a desire to strike at her. That seemed unusually restrained for a Grimm; unlike most wesen, Natasha could actually make that comparison, having met one before.

Perhaps those 'kindlier' rumors had some basis in fact? Then again... the fact that he had instantly recognized what she was, and still breathed, said something for the 'deadlier' rumors as well.

"And would he be able to corroborate your story?" he asked, skeptically.

"That SHIELD has an interest in your case? Certainly," Natasha replied, hands clasped unthreateningly in front of her. "But if you're asking whether or not he'll recognize me? Sorry, this is my first visit to your city. And so far... I'm not impressed."

Burkhardt didn't react to the deprecatory comment, but he didn't relax, either. "Neither am I," he said, an unamused curl at one corner of his mouth. "I know it's not polite to ask a lady her age, but I'm afraid in _your_ case I'm going to have to insist."

He _did_ know what she was, then. More than the last Grimm had, at least. Natasha echoed his bleak smile and tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Old enough to know that you're asking the wrong question."

"Yeah? And what question would that be?" he fired back.

So far, neither had said anything that might alarm more than puzzle a Kehrseite on the other side of the mirror, or expose the community if they were being recorded; Natasha chose her next words carefully.

"You've met a woman in my... situation before."

Burkhardt's eyes narrowed further. "Two, actually," he said, shoving away from the chair to cross his arms over his chest. "One who'd left quite the trail behind her. And one who... hadn't."

The words were heavy with meaning. Natasha's smile compressed into a thin line as she struggled not to woge in reaction.

"How old?" she asked, flatly.

He didn't bother to pretend he didn't understand what she was asking. "Twenty-six," he replied. "But..."

"She looked more like seventy," Natasha finished for him. Once a female spinnetod entered puberty, her instinctive drives grew stronger and stronger; sex became associated with drawing energy to reverse the aging disorder endemic to their kind, and thus with the consumption of sexual partners. It became _necessary_ to kill at least three men every five years if she wanted to survive. More, if she wanted to stay young and useful indefinitely.

_Love is for children_: she'd learned that lesson early, and learned it well.

Most spinnetode gave into their natures eventually, becoming the infamous 'black widows' of the wesen world; many became monsters, or weapons. Natasha's own story wasn't pretty, but it was far from the worst she'd heard; at least she'd found purpose in it. A few unfortunates, usually raised apart from other wesen, ended up hating themselves enough to commit passive suicide. Burkhardt's new friend _might_ make it another five years before her self-denial killed her.

But Natasha wasn't there to intervene. She had a mission to complete- preferably without adding any more unearned red to her ledger.

"Perhaps you can appreciate the fact that I've chosen a career that allows me to walk a path between those two extremes," she said, gesturing toward her badge again. "Much like _your_ career, if I'm not mistaken."

His first reaction to that was easy to read: rejection and disgust, along the lines of _but I don't eat the people I kill._ But the second was, more promisingly, a grimace of acknowledgement: _But I do kill, and being a cop makes the hunt easier; you're right about that._

Burkhardt swallowed and said neither of those things, glancing toward the mirror. "Your superiors know?"

"Do yours?" Natasha riposted coolly. It was a rhetorical question; and she knew he knew it.

He blew out a breath, staring down at the floor for a moment in thought. "Is _that_ the question I should be asking?" he asked, equally rhetorically.

She inclined her head, and Burkhardt grunted, tossing her badge back to her with a flourish. "I won't pretend to approve," he concluded irritably. "Just keep your... _trail_... out of my city."

"It's cute that you think you could stop me," she replied. "But your interference- and your judgment- won't be necessary."

"You know, if there's an actual government agency involved in all this," he scoffed, "why don't they print up some pamphlets? Might have made this little meeting go a lot smoother."

The corner of Natasha's mouth twitched as she envisioned repeating that comment to Fury. "I'll certainly pass that observation to my superiors."

"Just when I think I've got a handle on all this, I get a look at just how much further down the rabbit hole there is to go," he shook his head. "I'll just... escort you to the Captain then, shall I?"

Had Burkhardt been raised apart from his own traditions? That would explain a few things. Clearly, SHIELD had been keeping their noses out of Portland's business too scrupulously. Perhaps it was time Natasha paid a visit to Coulson's cellist and asked a few pointed questions.

"Just take care not to end up _as_ the cake, and you should land on your feet eventually," she said, lightly.

He finally cracked something resembling an actual smile as he gestured her back into the hall.

-x-


End file.
